This is an American WWII poster by Glenn Ernest Grohe , ca 1942. It's from www.usmm.org. This gives me the creeps - it's exactly how I pictured Darth Vader in my head.
Showing posts with label Darth Vader. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Darth Vader. Show all posts
Monday, August 27, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
The Day My Tongue Went Crazier Than Me
I was having a difficult day in hospital - I was hearing Darth Vader again, and having intrusive thoughts of self-harm, so a nurse gave me a powerful antipsychotic called haloperidol (or "haldol").
My friends found me in the lounge, unfocused and drooling a bit. I wanted to work on a puzzle with Tom watching (he was still catatonic at that point, with his silent, annoying security guard), but I couldn't see straight. My head was floating and my arms and legs felt like logs. Janice, a manic and extremely happy patient, was concerned. She gave me a hug and said, "sorry they had to give you that shit."
Then something strange happened. My tongue started to move. Just a little at first, then more and more. I tried to speak, but all that came out were gutteral sounds. Amber the stalker walked by, then quickly left. (This was after the magic trick stunt, so I'm sure that this only confirmed that I was demon spawn).
I staggered to the nursing station. Out of all the nurses, 99.9% were great. The two at the station represented the other 0.1%. Fantastic - what were the odds. I tried to speak, but couldn't at all. My head started pointing up, and my tongue was wagged around, lewdly sticking out of my mouth.
"Oh, stop it," said nurse #1.
"We know you're faking," said nurse #2.
"Faking what?" I thought.
"There's no way you could have tardive dyskinesia, D'Arcy. I'm sure you looked it up. You haven't been on antipsychotics nearly long enough. It takes years. Now go away."
By then I was desperate. I couldn't speak. I couldn't look down. I was having trouble breathing. I had no idea what tardive dyskinesia was, but it sounded scary. So I just stood there.
"Leave, please!"
I held my ground, tongue waggling.
"We're going to call the Head Nurse!"
I couldn't nod yes, because my neck was stuck, so I just stood there, relieved that somebody else was on the way.
The head nurse did show up, and said "it will be okay. We're going to give you a pill called Cogentin, and it will make this stop."
They got a tiny white pill into me, and within ten minutes I could talk and move my head around.
It turns out that in extremely rare cases, "tardive dyskinesia" (which manifests itself in involuntary movements and can be fatal) can occur in a patient after only a few doses of particular antipsychotic medications. (I had won the "tardive dyskinesia lottery.")
It hurt to be accused of faking, especially when I would have done anything to get out and go home.
But on the plus side, I had learned two great new Scrabble words. I will be waiting the rest of my life to have a "dysesia" on my rack, and for someone to play "kin."
Mental note: Once you know you react poorly to a medication, make sure that you let your advocates know so that you never get it again.
My friends found me in the lounge, unfocused and drooling a bit. I wanted to work on a puzzle with Tom watching (he was still catatonic at that point, with his silent, annoying security guard), but I couldn't see straight. My head was floating and my arms and legs felt like logs. Janice, a manic and extremely happy patient, was concerned. She gave me a hug and said, "sorry they had to give you that shit."
Then something strange happened. My tongue started to move. Just a little at first, then more and more. I tried to speak, but all that came out were gutteral sounds. Amber the stalker walked by, then quickly left. (This was after the magic trick stunt, so I'm sure that this only confirmed that I was demon spawn).
I staggered to the nursing station. Out of all the nurses, 99.9% were great. The two at the station represented the other 0.1%. Fantastic - what were the odds. I tried to speak, but couldn't at all. My head started pointing up, and my tongue was wagged around, lewdly sticking out of my mouth.
"Oh, stop it," said nurse #1.
"We know you're faking," said nurse #2.
"Faking what?" I thought.
"There's no way you could have tardive dyskinesia, D'Arcy. I'm sure you looked it up. You haven't been on antipsychotics nearly long enough. It takes years. Now go away."
By then I was desperate. I couldn't speak. I couldn't look down. I was having trouble breathing. I had no idea what tardive dyskinesia was, but it sounded scary. So I just stood there.
"Leave, please!"
I held my ground, tongue waggling.
"We're going to call the Head Nurse!"
I couldn't nod yes, because my neck was stuck, so I just stood there, relieved that somebody else was on the way.
The head nurse did show up, and said "it will be okay. We're going to give you a pill called Cogentin, and it will make this stop."
They got a tiny white pill into me, and within ten minutes I could talk and move my head around.
It turns out that in extremely rare cases, "tardive dyskinesia" (which manifests itself in involuntary movements and can be fatal) can occur in a patient after only a few doses of particular antipsychotic medications. (I had won the "tardive dyskinesia lottery.")
It hurt to be accused of faking, especially when I would have done anything to get out and go home.
But on the plus side, I had learned two great new Scrabble words. I will be waiting the rest of my life to have a "dysesia" on my rack, and for someone to play "kin."
Mental note: Once you know you react poorly to a medication, make sure that you let your advocates know so that you never get it again.
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Sedation and Seclusion
I have tremendous respect for psychiatric nurses.
I would guess that the most stressful aspect of their job is keeping all of their patients safe. That's hard when the patients are working against you, like me and Darth Vader were.
His voice didn't stop once I was admitted to hospital. He kept urging me to bang my head and to find ways to kill myself. I snuck into a bathroom on my ward. That's where a nurse found me, smacking my head against a concrete wall.
He sounded the alarm and grabbed me. I didn't resist (I never really wanted to smash my head against concrete anyways - that was Vader's idea). Several nurses surrounded me. The rest gets fuzzy - I was either injected or given something to swallow. I learned later that this is called a "pharmaceutical restraint." They don't use straitjackets anymore - just drugs.
I was walked to seclusion. My glasses were taken away, so I was pretty much blind. I was locked in a small, white room. There was a mattress on the floor, and I think a bedpan. It was dark, except for a square of light near the top of the door. Every ten minutes the square would blank out as a nurse looked in on me.
It was probably one of the lowest points of my life, but it was also profound. I just had all of my freedoms stripped from me. My tiny environment was silent and dark. I lost track of time, and eventually went to sleep.
I don't know how long I was in there. At least 12 hours, maybe 24. I remember being let out, being blinded by the brightness of the hallway, and hearing a nurse exclaim "D'Arcy! You are the last person I thought I'd find in seclusion."
It wasn't traumatic, like you might think. It felt like I had been on a long trip in a space capsule.
It also felt like I had changed somehow, turned a corner, and during my space trip had escaped Vader. At least for a little while.
I would guess that the most stressful aspect of their job is keeping all of their patients safe. That's hard when the patients are working against you, like me and Darth Vader were.
His voice didn't stop once I was admitted to hospital. He kept urging me to bang my head and to find ways to kill myself. I snuck into a bathroom on my ward. That's where a nurse found me, smacking my head against a concrete wall.
He sounded the alarm and grabbed me. I didn't resist (I never really wanted to smash my head against concrete anyways - that was Vader's idea). Several nurses surrounded me. The rest gets fuzzy - I was either injected or given something to swallow. I learned later that this is called a "pharmaceutical restraint." They don't use straitjackets anymore - just drugs.
I was walked to seclusion. My glasses were taken away, so I was pretty much blind. I was locked in a small, white room. There was a mattress on the floor, and I think a bedpan. It was dark, except for a square of light near the top of the door. Every ten minutes the square would blank out as a nurse looked in on me.
It was probably one of the lowest points of my life, but it was also profound. I just had all of my freedoms stripped from me. My tiny environment was silent and dark. I lost track of time, and eventually went to sleep.
I don't know how long I was in there. At least 12 hours, maybe 24. I remember being let out, being blinded by the brightness of the hallway, and hearing a nurse exclaim "D'Arcy! You are the last person I thought I'd find in seclusion."
It wasn't traumatic, like you might think. It felt like I had been on a long trip in a space capsule.
It also felt like I had changed somehow, turned a corner, and during my space trip had escaped Vader. At least for a little while.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)